


All Flowers Wither and Die

by Mizuphae



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Character Deaths off-screen, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flowers, Funerals, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Language of Flowers, M/M, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:00:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27601067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizuphae/pseuds/Mizuphae
Summary: If Tim got a nickel every time someone he loved died… well, he wouldn’t berich, exactly but… he’d have quite a few nickels.Or six times Tim was forced to come to terms with someone’s death, plus two times he didn’t have to (not in order).
Relationships: Bart Allen & Tim Drake, Jack Drake & Tim Drake, Janet Drake & Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown & Tim Drake, Tim Drake & Alfred Pennyworth, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Cassie Sandsmark, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent
Comments: 11
Kudos: 109





	All Flowers Wither and Die

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to my awesome betas Lizzie Raine and TheFairMaidenOfFandom! 
> 
> Please enjoy this grief-fest

Tim’s never really experienced death before this moment. He remembered being told that his grandmother died, but he only met her once and never really made an emotional connection with her enough to feel any real sadness when he was taken to her funeral. He’s read several books that dealt with death in some way, such as one of the main character’s relatives dying, or something similar of the sort, and it’d hurt because he built an emotional connection with them somehow as he flipped through the pages.

But now, he stood in front of Jason Todd’s newly dug grave. There were flowers planted in front of the headstone, trolliuses to be exact, and they swished back and forth in the wind. He presented his own bouquet of flowers to the cold gray stone, nestling it in the grass. They were some dandelions that he’d grabbed from what weeds could grow from the cracks on Gotham’s sidewalks and twisted into a miniature bright yellow bouquet. 

His parents didn’t leave him any spending money, but the cheerful yellow tint of dandelions reminded him of Robin’s cape and the joy from watching him sprint across rooftops and save civilians from muggers and criminals. 

“I, uh—I really admired you, Jason,” Tim mumbled, rocking back on his heels as his camera hung on his neck by its strap, resting on his chest. “You’re a big inspiration to me.”

The headstone said nothing back, and Tim bit his lip, wondering if he should leave now. 

“Batman is really aggressive now, and I’m really, really worried.” Tim knelt down onto the grass, ignoring the dirt that clung to his jeans. He stared at the trolliuses as he spoke, watching the yellow petals. Some were already missing, most likely from the rough Gotham winds. Nothing lasts in Gotham for long. “I might… I might try to talk Nightwing into becoming Robin again. Someone needs to keep Batman from accidentally killing because he’s really coming close to it.”

He exhaled, watching his warm breath visibly mingle with the frigid night air. “Please, Robin. Rest in peace. You deserve it.”

He stood up, making sure he still had his camera as he backed away from Jason’s grave. “Thank you. For all of the memories.”

_ Trolliuses for gratitude. _

\---

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

Tim stared at the white casket that held his mother’s body. It was pristine. So pure and clean and reminded him of his days in the manor. It looked cold and unwelcoming, a remembrance of how unforgiving death was. No matter how many nights he suffered alone in the manor, no matter how many nights he just wished that  _ one day _ his parents would take a look at him and ask him to sit down for a conversation,  _ any _ conversation, they didn’t deserve such a fate. His father may not be dead, but no one knows if Tim would be forced to pull the plug. He’s in a coma, caused by the same incident that caused his mother to die. Was it mercy to his mother to have her strings cut as her husband lay in his hospital cot, relying on machines to remain alive and keep on breathing for another minute? 

Tim didn’t know. But he looked up with shuddery breath at the businessman who worked with his parents for so many years and was now giving his condolences. “Th—thank you,” Tim murmured. 

His heart ached. Sure, his parents weren’t the greatest, and they certainly wouldn’t be winning the parents-of-the-year awards but… they were still  _ his _ . No matter how many times Barbara’s lip curled into a snarl whenever Tim mentioned that his parents weren’t home, or how many times Dick’s eyes clouded with concern when Tim flinched away from his hugs and told him that he wasn’t used to, nor liked touching other people, he can’t forget that it was his parents who brought him into this world. A cruel world, yes, but… 

The man patted his shoulder and every muscle in Tim’s body stilled. “I hope your father gets well soon. Drake Industries won’t be the same without your parents. They really were great at their jobs.”

“Oh, thank you.” Tim wondered why the man thought that was an appropriate thing to tell a grieving teenager, but nonetheless, he shrugged his shoulders as he walked away.

He looked back up at the casket. From where he was standing, he could see the top half of his mother’s body and the bouquet of flowers in her hands. With each shaky step, he walked closer and closer to the casket, ignoring the group of businessmen who stood off to the side.

He stared down at his mother’s corpse, finding it hard to move. Her brown hair that was always neatly and professionally curled, carefully placed on her shoulders now lay straight and limp, her body pale against her hair. Tim grimaced as he realized that her face was absolutely caked with makeup. She hated heavy makeup. His mother was always proud of her natural beauty, even to the point of putting down other women who dared to wear such heavy layers in her presence. It was always so mean to hear from his own mother, but it was difficult to see his mother wearing what she always loathed.

With doleful eyes, he glanced down at the bouquet of flowers that laid nestled in her lifeless, cold hands. They were purple hyacinths with tiny pretty petals that bloomed so beautifully. Tim reached out a hand to touch the petals that stood out perkily against his mother’s periwinkle dress. He’s never seen her wear this dress before, and he’s pretty sure it’s never been in her closet, as he used to snoop through every container and closet in the manor whilst bored. So it must’ve been newly bought for the funeral.

But Tim’s focus narrowed down to the flowers. Tentatively, as if afraid that his mother would spring from her cushion-laden casket and pull him into the dirt alongside her, he carefully plucked a single violet petal that felt so delicate it could fall apart between his fingertips. He held it up in front of his face as he peered at the tiny veins that lined the petal, so thin it could be pierced with the softest pinch. 

These purple hyacinths were the only constant Tim could find. These were his mother’s favorite. He knew this because whenever his father messed up in some way, and they were in Gotham, he’d return to the manor with several purple hyacinths tied up in a beautiful bow in his arms before he passed them to his wife.

He’d always say, “For you, my love. Because I despise every second without you.”

And then Janet’s angry frown would always melt into a soft smile and she’d say, “I suppose I can forgive you, just this once,” before she pulled him through the door and into their room.

Tim sighed as he fiddled with the side of the casket. “Hey.” He winced when his voice cracked, clearing his throat to restart. “Hey, Mom.”   


He stared down at her porcelain face that looked absolutely blank. It didn’t have any of that fury she held whenever she stepped into the boardroom, ready to ignore any misogyny businessmen had. It didn’t have that determination to perform her absolute best, not accepting any other results than victory. It didn’t have that professional coolness she had whenever giving a press conference, not allowing the reporters to pressure her into giving any more information that she had to. It didn’t contain any of that soft regret she had whenever Tim asked her if she  _ had to _ leave him again, and how long she would be gone. It held  _ nothing _ .

Tim bit his lip as he looked away from his mother’s face, and at the purple petal instead, rolling it in between his fingers. “I forgive you, Mom.

“I know that you were too busy for me. You always said that we’d have more time to spend with each other. You always said ‘after this trip’, ‘once we close this business deal’, ‘after we take a look at this newly-discovered historical site’, then we can do stuff together. Then we can have lunch together more, and talk about what happened at school, today.”

A realization struck Tim and he bitterly laughed. “I guess I can tell you what happened at school, today, now. Now that you’re here. And you won’t be taking any trips after this.”

He shifted uncomfortably in his suit and hung his head. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t make jokes. But you always said those things. And I forgive you for never following through.” He reached a hand out to clasp his mother’s cold wrist. “You didn’t know you had so little time left with us. With me.” 

Tears started to slip down his cheeks as he gazed at his mother. “You didn’t know.”

_ Purple hyacinths for regret. _

\---

“My condolences, I’m so sorry.”

Tim stared at the closed casket that had a vase of violet orchids placed on top of the lid, wondering  _ how the hell this happened _ .

It was a closed-casket funeral, which is different from the ones he’s been to before. Stephanie’s body was apparently too injured to be able to show at an open-casket funeral which is… well, he never liked the thought of their corpse being on display, but… was it selfish to want to see Steph one more time? 

His heart panged as he remembered how they left things on such a horrible note, and Bruce certainly hadn’t helped. He wished, God, he wished  _ so much _ that he had tried harder to mend things. A twisted humorous side of him reminded him of his mother. How she always thought she’d have more time in the future to talk to him. How she always said there would be a better time in which she wasn’t so busy, and she would be able to  _ really _ get to know who he was. But like how his mother missed her chance with Tim, Tim lost his chance with Stephanie.

“Tim?” Tim looked up to see Dick standing beside him. “Are you alright?”   


Tim let out an incredulous laugh, he didn’t mean to, but it escaped out of his mouth without his permission. “Alright? One of my best friends is  _ dead _ .”

He flinched away when he felt a hand touch him, but he was soon wrapped in an embrace that should’ve been warm, but all he felt was cold and numb. 

“I loved her,” Tim murmured as he stared straight ahead at the vase of violet orchids; its beautiful hues stood out starkly against the white walls of the chapel that hosted the funeral. “I know we broke up and I was no longer her boyfriend but… I loved her because she was my best friend. She was an amazing person and—” he choked on a sob. “Black Mask took her away. She didn’t deserve it.”   


“I know, I know,” Dick hushed Tim, squeezing him tighter in his arms. “I’m so sorry, Timmy.”

Tim wanted to cry but he  _ couldn’t _ . No tears would relieve him, so instead he watched the flowers that leaned against the interior of the glass vase, yearning to see Stephanie again.

“I didn’t tell her I was sorry.”

“Oh, Tim,” Dick sighed. “It’s okay now.”

Tim bit his lip before muttering, “It’s really not. And now,” he gazed at the picture frame of Stephanie that sat on top of the casket, beside the vase of orchids. 

He took that picture himself and he remembered it so vividly. It was summer break, so neither of them had school and decided to visit one of Gotham’s parks and fool around on the playground. He had dared Stephanie to jump off of the swing midair and she readily agreed before flying off of the swing and into a bush of orchids. He had laughed when Stephanie asked him if she looked ‘Instagram-worthy’, to which he replied ‘sure’ and snapped a picture. In the photograph, she was surrounded by lovely shades of green, pink, and purple that surrounded her body. She was grinning widely at Tim and he remembered smiling back at her.

Tim exhaled. “It’s too late.”

_ Violet orchids for admiration, enthusiasm, and boldness.  _

\---

“I knew Jack Drake. I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah.” Tim glared at the ground, his hands sitting in the pockets of his slacks. “Thanks.”

“He was a good man.”

“Yeah.” Tim exhaled roughly as he slouched into his chair. The man gave up on talking to Tim and walked away, out of Tim’s sight. 

He hugged himself tightly, looking over at Jack’s casket that was far off. He should go have a last moment with his father but… all he could think of was Jack’s last words to him. 

“I love you, Tim,” his dad had said, moments before he was killed by Captain Boomerang. “I love you just like your mother loves you. What you do for all those people… it’s worth it, Tim.”

He held back a sob as he pushed himself off of his chair and stumbled over to the casket, hands still loosely in his pockets. Guilt racked his body as he remembered  _ why _ Jack died. It was all Tim’s fault that Captain Boomerang came after him. If only he hadn’t become Robin, Jack would still be alive. 

_ But if you didn’t become Robin _ , his mind reminded him,  _ then who knows what could have happened to Batman. To Bruce. _

Tim found himself staring down at Jack’s chest where a single cyclamen sat, where a stab wound once was. He remembered running into the room, Batman behind him, only to see his father’s lifeless body laying there.

He couldn’t breathe as he saw his father lie on the floor of their living room, a shattered pot of cyclamens among the chaos of the torn apart room.

He had rushed over and began performing CPR, ignoring the shouts from Batman to stop and that they had to leave. That the police were coming and they had to leave  _ now _ . But he didn’t want to give up. Tim didn’t want to give up on his father and the second chance they were given to spend time with each other, because he didn’t get one with his mother. Tim’s hands were sopping with Jack’s blood, and they remained bloody until Bruce sent him off to the bathroom to wash off, with tired and concerned eyes.

An arm wrapped around Tim’s shoulders, startling him. “Oh, Bruce. Uh, Mr. Wayne.”

“Tim.” Bruce stood in his priceless suit, looking down at Tim with sad eyes. He ducked down to whisper in his ear, “I understand what you’re going through, and I’m so sad you have to feel it at such a young age. Please, cry if you need to.”

“Honestly, I don’t know if I could cry anymore.” It’s true. All he felt was cold and numb, possibly because he’d been crying every night, since  _ that  _ night.

It’s just that… it’s so awful. It felt selfish but Jack had only just started paying attention to him. He stayed in Gotham. He found happiness despite the tragic loss of his wife and started asking Tim questions. He started asking Tim  _ how school was _ . And that was something Tim had yearned for, for so long. And that  _ potential _ for a future in which Tim was able to start getting to know his dad when he lost that chance with his mother, was snatched away from him. As easily as a boomerang to the chest.

“I’m so sorry, chum.” Bruce awkwardly withdrew his arms as Tim stared down at the flower that remained on Jack Drake’s chest.

“I’m sorry too.”

_ Cyclamens for resignation. _

\---

“Jason. You’re back.” 

Tim stared at the bouquet of sunflowers in his hand before placing it in front of the grave, wincing as he knelt, his body aching with every movement. The gravestone read ‘Here Lies Jason Todd’. He laughed; what a lie.

“I can’t believe it. It’s—it’s,” he took a trembling breath, “it’s a miracle I wish happened  _ years _ ago. But it’s too late, now.

“I became Robin for you, to preserve your memory, to keep your Batman alive.” A sob ripped its way out of his throat. “I did my best. I swear. There were times when I contemplated giving up but then I remembered that you—that when you were Robin, you never gave up.

“You were always so strong.” He shifted the sunflowers to sit more properly and upright against the gravestone. “I know nobody is under there any more. Especially because you ambushed me at Titans Tower, so I’d be a bit concerned if you were still down below.

“You,” he chuckled sadly a bit at the thought. He was nearly killed by his  _ hero _ , and he wasn’t a villain. Not even a simple mugger. “You look like how you used to. A bit bigger, yes but… you still had that fire—anger—inside.”

His body screamed at him every time he moved a muscle, groaning as he laid his body down on the grass, laying beside Jason’s grave. 

“I miss taking pictures of you, Jason. I hope things start to make sense soon.”

_ Sunflowers for adoration and for bringing joy to the sender. _

\---

Tim stared at the rose that lay on top of his drawer from where he laid on his bed. He couldn't gather the energy to get up or eat or exercise or even sleep. He just laid there, bundled in his blanket and in one of Kon’s old shirts, staring at the withered rose with scarlet petals that were browning from oxidation. 

It was only last week when Kon had handed him the flower with a kiss on his cheek before scooping him up and flying them to a pizza parlor in New York after Bart had mentioned it to him and told him they sold the best pizza in the world. Tim had laughed before placing the rose on top of the drawer and grabbed Kon’s t-shirt to pull him into a sweet kiss.

Tears slipped down his cheeks and onto his pillow as he remembered  _ Kon _ . He wanted him back so much. Tim couldn’t ever be angry because Kon did it to save the world. He died so that no one else would. And he couldn’t blame him because Tim would sacrifice himself to save others without a moment of hesitation. But Tim never wanted to know how much it would hurt when Kon  _ died _ . Tim has had to attend so many funerals and… he hiccuped as he wiped his face roughly. Tim  _ never _ wanted to know what it would be like to attend Kon’s.

The door creaked open and Tim’s body didn’t even have the energy to reflexively reach for a weapon or ready itself in self-defense. 

“Master Timothy,” Alfred murmured from the doorway, but Tim couldn’t get himself to look away from the dying rose. “The others are ready to leave for the funeral. Please put on your black suit.”

Tim just shook his head. 

With a weary sigh, Alfred walked in through the door before walking in and sitting on the corner of Tim’s bed. “Master Tim, I’m sure I do not know of the exact pain you are forced to endure at this moment. But in my years of experience and how long I’ve known you and watched you grow into a young man who is so determined to do what is right and has such a kind heart, I can tell you that you  _ will _ get through this.”

Tim only stared ahead, away from Alfred who sighed and stood up. “We are always here for you, including me. Even if you feel like you are alone and it’s just you against the world, please remember that I’m always willing to listen to whatever you are enduring.” He started to head towards the door, stopping when he reached the exit. “Master Tim? Do you plan on attending the funeral with the others?”   


He only shook his head again, his throat feeling too tight to speak. He can’t. He can’t go or else he feared he would fall apart. He feared he would succumb to the same fate as Dana, who suffered a mental breakdown after his father, her love-of-her-life died. Going to Kon’s funeral meant that Tim would have to finally accept that Kon was  _ gone _ , and he would never be able to come back. 

And Tim doesn’t think he is able to handle that.

Alfred only exhaled a soft sigh before nodding, shutting the door behind him.

Tim buried himself into the blankets before popping his head out once more to stare at the rose that was once the same hue as the symbol that Kon used to wear so proudly on his chest. 

He doesn’t know how he’s going to live without Kon by his side. What would he give to kiss Kon one last time? Or watch a wide grin spread along Kon’s face before Tim inevitably started smiling himself, or hear him affectionately call him ‘Rob’, or pick him up and fly them to a place where they can forget about their responsibilities for just a couple of hours?

Or simply tell him ‘goodbye’.

_ Red roses for love. _

\---

“Rob!”

Tim was swept into an embrace by Cassie before she began sobbing against his chest. Every muscle in his body stilled before he tentatively reached out to hug her back, tears trailing off his cheeks as well.

“Bart… he…” Cassandra held Tim tightly, as if afraid that Tim would be the next one to die, to be buried six feet under. And honestly, at this rate, the thought wasn’t too far-fetched. 

“I know, Cassie,” Tim croaked, burying his face into her blonde hair. “I know.”

The two friends clung to each other, forced to come to terms that two of their friends have died in such a short span of time, never to be seen again. With their dangerous career that they had voluntarily chosen to pursue, determined to save as many lives as they can, they had no idea when someone would die. Casualties are a given when it comes to the violence they face every day they put on the suit. They didn’t know when would be the last time they gave a teammate a glance to check if they were doing okay, shared their last meal with one another, or hugged each other for the very last time. If Tim has learned anything in his life, it’s that you never know when a loved one’s life is stripped away. So you have to take advantage of every moment because you  _ don’t know _ for a fact that you will have more time in the future to spend time with someone.

“Guys,” Barry Allen stood in front of them with teary eyes, a tissue in hand. “Would you like to say your goodbyes?” He nodded over to the redwood casket surrounded by numerous bouquets of flowers, ranging from red carnations to orange bouvardias to yellow lotuses.

Tim and Cassie withdrew from the embrace but kept their hands clasped, nodding and sniffing as they wiped away their tears. Together they walked forward to the casket to see Bart’s corpse laying there, so… lifeless compared to their memories of him. 

He choked back a sob, releasing Cassie’s hand as he backed away from the casket, accidentally stepping on a red carnation that must have escaped from the piles. 

Bart had never looked so still, not fidgeting or moving or  _ anything _ . He didn’t look right. His auburn hair that was always fluffy and bouncing around his head now lay limp inside the casket.

“Ti—Tim?” Cassie turned to reach out to him but he ran.

He ran to the side of the memorial service, lunging for a garbage can nearby before vomiting the coffee he was barely able to keep down that morning, wheezing as he held onto the sides of the metal barrel for dear life.

Sobbing, Tim slumped against the garbage can, spitting out the remains of the vile-tasting vomit from his mouth. Cassie stood off to the side, watching with sad eyes.

“I miss him!” Tim cried, “I miss both of them, all of them!”

“Me too, I know…”

“How am I supposed to live without them?” Tim collapsed to the ground. “Why would they leave?” He hiccuped and pulled at his hair, tears dripping from his chin. “Why does this always happen?”

“I don’t know,” Cassie walked closer to him and sat beside him, rubbing her eyes. “I wish this all didn’t happen.” She scooched closer to him and enveloped him in a hug, “I miss them so much, too, Tim. So much.”

They sat in each other's company, ignoring the worried looks they are getting from the others as they leaned against the garbage can. 

“Do you—” Tim’s voice cracked. “Do you think we made them happy, Cassie?”

“What?”

“Do you think we were ever able to be good enough? They were happy with us, right? When they were still—still with us, did they like living?”   
  
“Yeah.” Cassie stared up at the blue sky. “I think they were happy.”

Tim’s vision was blurry as tears clouded his vision, staring at the red petal that was stuck to the bottom of his shoe, possibly from when he stepped on one. 

“Do you think they’re happier, now? In a better place than here?”

He was startled by a hand that reached over and clasped his. 

“I hope so, Rob.”

“I miss them so much, it hurts.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

_ Red carnations for missing someone. _

\---

“Tim. Damian finally went back upstairs. You should, too.”

Dick’s voice sounded broken and uneasily high, but Tim didn’t respond as he stared at Bruce’s body that laid on the cot in the infirmary.

Batman… is dead. And Tim couldn’t believe it. In logic and reasoning, he knows that Bruce Wayne was human, a mortal who wouldn’t live forever but his formidable presence made that hard to believe. His world felt like it was crumbling around him and he was unable to stop it in any way.

“Tim.” Dick placed a hand on Tim’s shoulder and he looked up to see his brother with teary eyes. “Please,” his voice was hushed and quiet, as if he was any louder, he would then surely begin to cry. “Please go upstairs, Tim. We’ll—” he gulped, ”We’ll figure it out.”

“What—what do you mean,  _ figure it out _ ?” Tim backed away from his brother, away from the infirmary. “My dad is dead!”

“He was my dad, too!” Tim froze at Dick’s outburst and he watched in horror as Dick attempted to regain himself, but failed as he gripped Tim’s shoulders with intensity. “Ti—Tim, we need to work together on this because Bruce is  _ gone _ . There are so many things to be done, and we—we—”

“Master Richard,” Alfred walked out of the infirmary, stripping off medical-grade latex gloves. “Please, young sir. Take a breather outside, the both of you.” His countenance merely kind and tired, but his eyes told another story of agony and despair at losing his son.

Tim watched as Dick shook his head, clambering to his feet. “I’m, I’m sorry, Alfred,” he roughly wiped away his tears. “I need to help you with—with Bruce.”

“I’m afraid not, sir.” Alfred exhaled softly. “You boys don’t need to see this. I will handle—”

“Alfred—”

“No, sir.” Alfred determinedly waved his hand. “You two will go take a walk in the gardens. The white rose bushes have bloomed nicely this season.”

Tim hugged himself and bit his lip, scrunching his shoulders together. “Alfred, if you need any help—”

“Master Timothy.” His voice was worryingly shaky as he chided Tim who stared down at his feet. “You must go and take a break with Master Richard. We all need a moment during this—” He sucked in a breath. “This incredibly difficult time.”

“Sorry,” Tim mumbled, numbly letting Dick pull him into an embrace. 

Alfred gave a soft, sad smile. “There is nothing to apologize for.” He turned on his heel and began to walk back into the infirmary. “Do not come back until you both have taken in the sight of those roses.”

Dick and Tim nodded and headed for the stairs, using each other as an emotional crutch. Tim still was having a hard time processing that Bruce was dead; it still didn’t feel real. But once it did, Tim had no idea how he would remain sane.

_ White roses for a beloved deceased father. _

\---

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Tim stared at the picture frame that sat in his hands.

“Hey, Tim,” Kon hovered behind Tim’s shoulder. “What are you doing?”

Tim didn’t answer, prompting Kon to drape his body weight over Tim’s back and hooking his chin on his shoulder. 

“Kon,” Tim laughed weakly, pushing his boyfriend off of him. “Nothing, don’t worry about it.”

Kon raised an eyebrow. “You’re looking at a photo of us from a while back. I remember that day, we went to the flower shop to get something to decorate Alfred’s cake.” 

He smiled fondly at the memory and pointed at Tim who was awkwardly posing with some anemone as Kon kissed his cheek. The nice employee there had offered to take a picture of them, to which Kon had readily and happily agreed before shoving a pot of pretty flowers into Tim’s hands. 

“Anyways,” Kon shook himself out of the nostalgia. “What are you thinking about?”

His smile curled into a frown as Tim shrugged. “I was thinking about…about what happened when you died.”

“Oh.” Kon blinked and wrapped an arm around Tim’s waist, pulling him closer to himself. 

“Yeah, oh,” Tim echoed.

“I’m sorry I had to leave you, Rob, but I had to. And hey,” Kon gently grasped Tim’s chin and lifted it to make him look up at his face. “I’m back now. Everything’s fine.” 

Tim shook his head. “You don’t understand, Kon. Don’t get me wrong, I’m so, so  _ goddamn glad _ that you’re back. You have no idea.” He leaned in closer into Kon’s embrace. “You don’t know what it was like to have to pick up the broken pieces after you were gone. It hurt so much when you were dead, and I couldn’t even remember the last thing I said to you.”

Kon frowned and Tim kept talking. “I can’t forget the overwhelming despair that just surrounded me. I didn’t know how I could live without you. I missed you so much.”

“I’m sorry, Tim.” Kon inhaled deeply, wiping away a tear from Tim’s cheek with his thumb. “I don’t know what I would do if you died.”

Tim smiled sadly and leaned in to gently kiss Kon’s lips. “Try not to leave me again, Cloneboy.”

“I’ll do my best. You do the same, Robin.”

“Of course.”

_ Anemones for undying love. _

**Author's Note:**

> Yell at me in the comments, please. Have an awesome day/night!


End file.
